


Lead Your Beast Unto Me

by SolainRhyo



Category: Vagrant Story
Genre: Alternative view of how Callo was captured, Callo perspective, F/M, Sydney/Callo gradual romance, Takes place during the game, kinda slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 17:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13792230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolainRhyo/pseuds/SolainRhyo
Summary: Captured and made hostage of Sydney Losstarot, the mysterious leader of the Müllenkamp cult, VKP Inquisitor Callo Merlose is unwillingly drawn into the dangers of the ravaged, abandoned city of Leá Monde. Afraid, fascinated, and drawn to Sydney's powers, Callo bears witness to all the machinations of the Dark.





	1. Prelude to Leá Monde

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how much love this fandom gets anymore. I wrote this back in 2004. On the off chance that you happened to find this fic out of curiosity, Vagrant Story is one of the best RPGs ever made (in my opinion). It's for the original Playstation and has one of the most immersive environments I've ever seen in a game. The characters are intriguing and the dialogue engaging, so much so that they're what drove me to write this. Additional fun fact: Vagrant Story takes place in the same world as Final Fantasy Tactics and Final Fantasy XII. 
> 
> Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken directly from the game.

> _Even if Sydney can see the past and clasp the truth, how are we to know if he speaks it?_
> 
> _Callo Merlose_
> 
>  

Callo Merlose was cold.

She shivered as a breeze brushed over her, carrying a chill out of place in this season. Clad only in the light armor of her Inquisitor's rank, she was overly susceptible to the changes in temperature. She was standing at the foot of a worn stone staircase which descended down into the earth, quickly lost to shadow. She shuddered then as she remembered what was rumored to roam down there and took several steps away. The breeze faded as if it followed the stairs up from the bowels of the earth, and the warmth of the late autumn sun washed over her once more. She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her gaze to the north, where in the distance the ruins of Leá Monde rose to cast their shadow, a haunting reminder of what had once been. There was a sound behind her and she whirled, startled.

It was Ashley Riot, fellow agent of the VKP and a Riskbreaker, climbing out of the ground from the stone stairwell. He was a tall man, sturdy, clad in the armor of his rank. There was a small curved blade at his waist and another long blade strapped across his back. He carried himself with self assured grace, the movement of a warrior. Ashley was a handsome man, chestnut haired and muscular. He carried a reputation within the VKP as being somewhat detached and distant. As he reached solid ground he looked at Callo expectantly. "... Well?"

"The two sentinels are dead. Murdered." She replied.

"Hmm." He moved then to stand beside Callo, and together they stared into the dark passage he had just left. "This the only way in?"

She gestured then to Leá Monde, were it sat impenetrable and untouched for centuries. "There's a great crevasse preventing entry above ground."

"And from the sea?"

Callo shook her head. "Nay, sunken reefs that rose during the earthquake form a gauntlet of whirlpools. Too dangerous. You do know we sent agents in, thinking those ruins were the Müllenkamp base. Not one returned."

"Not on account of the whirlpools, I'd wager." Ashley muttered, his own gaze on the distant city.

"Surely, it was men that killed them."Callo said. She looked again to the passage looming before them, a cavernous mouth waiting to swallow them both. "How was it down there?"

Ashley smiled without mirth. "Come down and see for yourself." And without further comment, he moved to the stairs and descended again. She stared after him a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of trepidation wash over her. She shook her head quickly to dispel the feeling and quickly followed after him.

It was not a long descent and soon she found herself in a large, cavern-like room. Upon further inspection she realized it was the remnant of a wine cellar. There were large casks lined up along one wall, and broken bottles in one corner. What caught and held her attention, however, were the bodies of two men lying on the floor. She took a hesitant step forward, close enough to see the blood, already congealing, beneath both forms. "What's this?"

Ashley was opposite where she stood, on the other side of the bodies, examining a door sealed by a large iron grate. "That's what I'm here to find out. It does seem well fortified for a wine cellar..."

Merlose walked to the nearest body lying next to the a shelf full of wine crates. She knelt, examining the face of the dead man and attempting to keep her voice steady. "Oh? Leá Monde's wineries were once vied the best of Valendia." She quickly rose, putting distance between herself and the corpse. "Since they went out of production, the remaining vintages sell for a premium."

There was a harsh screech as Ashley pulled the iron grate open. He glanced back at her. "If I find any, consider them yours."

"You plan to go alone?"

There was no mistaking the gentle condescension in his tone. "An agent with no combat experience would just be a liability."

Callo said nothing, though a faint hint of color rose high in her cheeks. Choosing to ignore this, Ashley went on. "Tell me what you know about Múllenkamp and this Sydney."

She stepped back and leaned against the shelf. "Sydney Losstarot. Leader of the religious cult Müllenkamp. His real name and age are unknown. One of the many self-styled prophets of the apocalypse."

"So why," Ashley wondered aloud, staring at the corpses with a thoughtful frown, "would a cult missionary commit such a crime?"

Callo was silent a moment before replying. Said crime was the entire reason the both of them were here. Sydney and his Müllenkamp followers had kidnapped the grandson of Duke Bardorba before setting fire to the ducal manor. The VKP had discerned that Sydney was headed for the ruined city of Leá Monde, but beyond that had no idea what his purpose was. "I do not know what the Cardinal thinks, but the VKP believes he is no prophet – indeed, he is in dark alliance with Duke Bardorba, who controls parliament from behind the scenes. That the cult is just a front. Perhaps this incident is a sign of falling out between the two?"

"Or merely another of the Cardinal's witch hunts?" Ashley mused.

"There are many would be prophets in the land these days, but Sydney is... different." Callo said. "His prophecies ring true, and those enraptured by the way he hums revelations – as though they were simple ballads! All say the same: _he is a miracle._ "

"In any case," she continued when Ashley said nothing, "He has a strange power. He can guess the past of those he meets. He can even read hearts. They say his charisma is such that his followers offer both body and soul to him."

Movement caught her eye; Ashley had turned and was now standing before the open door. He cast her an unreadable glance. "Sounds like you're quite taken with him yourself." He stepped through the doorway.

"Agent Riot!"

Ashley paused, and turned slightly to give her a small smile. "If I do not return by the morrow's eve, inform HQ, won't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he swiveled and walked through, quickly lost to the shadows. The iron grate closed behind him.

Callo stared after him, one hand fisted and held to her chest. "Godspeed,” she murmured. She shook her head after a moment and turned away. Stepping over the bodies with distaste she walked to the stairwell, casting once last glance to the door where Ashley had vanished before turning her attention to the passage leading above ground.

She gasped. There, standing at the top and observing her with an amused smile, was none other than Sydney Losstarot.

 

**.x.**

 


	2. The unforeseen snare

> _"Most men complacently accept knowledge as truth. They are sheep, ruled by fear."_
> 
> _Sydney Losstarot_

 

 

Callo did not move at first, muscles frozen in shock. Sydney descended several steps further. "Hardin!" He called over his shoulder. "We have ourselves an unexpected guest."

Fear replaced shock and Callo suddenly found that she could move. She whirled around and dashed towards the iron grate. If she could get through, she could alert Ashley—

—there was a rush of movement, _and then Sydney was in front of her!_

Callo swallowed a scream and stumbled away. Something caught her from behind; her arms were wrenched behind her back. With a savage, desperate cry she lashed out with one leg, kicking backward and connecting with whoever it was that held her. There was an explosive curse as the grip on her arms loosened. She surged forward, swerving, dodging past the man— _Hardin_ —who had held her, thinking to flee up the stairs. Her flight was halted abruptly as Sydney was somehow, _impossibly_ again before her, blocking her route. She stood then balanced precariously on the stairs, caught between the two men, glancing frantically back and forth to try and determine some method of escape. Sydney's eyes caught and held hers and he shook his head slowly; she knew then it was hopeless.

Her adrenaline vanished in a sudden rush, leaving her feeling drained and weak. Rough hands seized her shoulders and hauled her roughly down the stairs before twisting her around and shoving her against the wall. She hit hard, the breath leaving her body in an explosive exhale. Hardin limped over to her, favoring the leg she had kicked, pinning her with a fierce, unkind glare.

"That," he growled, "hurt."

Callo, overwhelmed with dismay and apprehension, found that her voice had deserted her completely. Her knees gave way and she slid slowly to the ground. Sydney descended the stairs slowly, regarding her with a contemplative expression. Hardin turned to face the Müllenkamp leader.

"What are we to do with her?"

Sydney was silent for a long string of moments. Callo waited for his reply with bated breath, knowing that should he order her death, Hardin would not hesitate to comply.

"We take her with us," he replied finally.

Hardin scowled. "Is that wise?"

The prophet ignored the question, coming to crouch before Callo. His eyes, dark and piercing beneath long, errant strands of his pale hair, caught and held her own yet again. "She will cooperate with us. Won't you, _Inquisitor_ ?"

Callo managed to stifle her gasp, barely. He'd called her by her VKP title, something that none outside the VKP knew of. How had he known? Her expressive face gave away her astonishment. A small smile creased Sydney's lips at her reaction. He stood.

"She's one of them, Sydney." Hardin said with heavy warning.

"I am aware of that.”

"But—"

"Hardin," Sydney said, and his tone carried a warning of his own. "Go up and fetch your ward. We must be off."

For a moment the two men stared at each other. The tension between them was almost tangible, a battle of hardened, indomitable wills. Finally Hardin bowed his head in a reluctant yield and with another hard look at Callo he walked past them both and back up the stairs.

Sydney walked to the iron grate through which Ashley had disappeared and peered through to the other side. Callo watched him warily, getting back to her feet. He was nothing like she had pictured from all the rumors and heresay. She'd pictured a hulking figure with dark features. Instead he was a tall man, lean and fair. His attire was somewhat bizarre, as he was bare from the waist up, his legs encased in thin mail on top of dark leather. Hanging from his waist and falling to the ground was a leather skirting, opened wide in the front. From the shoulder down his arms were covered in riveted plate mail. The armor gloved his hands as well, elongating his fingers into deceptively delicate claws. As he moved, his armor clinked softly, his skirting whispering across the dusty stone floor. Standing as he was now, she had a clear view of the intricate tattoo which covered most of his back, a multitude of complex dark lines coming together to form what she realized was a variation of the holy Rood symbol.

As if sensing her scrutiny, the Müllenkamp leader turned and walked to stand before her once again. He said, in an almost conversational tone, "The ruins of Leá Monde are no place for a lady, Inquisitor Merlose."

"How do you know my name?" Callo asked, burning curiosity momentarily winning out over fear.

Again he gave her that smile, an enigmatic upturn of the lips. "I know many things."

Realization came to her then of how he knew. She'd said it herself earlier to Ashley: “ _He has a strange power. He can guess the past of those he meets. He can even read hearts...”_

It was true, she thought with no small amount of fear. All the things that had been said of Sydney Losstarot were true!

Sudden noise drew their attention to the stairs. Hardin had reappeared, holding the hand of a timid looking young boy. Callo's eyes widened as she recognized the child. It was Joshua, the grandson of Duke Bardorba. The boy cast her a frightened glance before hiding behind Hardin's legs. Hardin's own gaze softened momentaril and he laid a comforting hand on the boy's head.

"We must be off," Sydney said. "Guildenstern will have sent the Blades after us by now."

 _Guildenstern_. Callo recognized the name. Romeo Guildenstern, the Captain of the Knights of the Cross. He was renowned throughout Valendia, his reputation was that of a cold and calculating soldier who had but one calling: the vicious indulgence of Christian justice. Among the Knights of the Cross were an elite group called the Crimson Blades, rumored to be the most fearsome lot of knights. Leading the Crimson Blades, Guildenstern had been the one to drive Müllenkamp out of Bardorba Manor. There was no love lost between religious orders and the VKP and Callo had to wonder why Guildenstern had bothered to pursue Müllenkamp this far.

Sydney moved to the grate and pulled it open. The grating screech of metal that had rusted for centuries echoed eerily throughout the room, and the boy made a soft, whimpering sound in response. The Müllenkamp leader turned to face Callo with a speculative look.

"Hardin," he said after a moment, "bind the Inquisitor. That will deter her from doing something rash."

The other man nodded and withdrew from a loop at his waist a coil of thin rope. Callo did not move as he approached her, nor did she make sound when he turned her around and roughly bound her wrists behind her back. Once Hardin was finished, Sydney gave a satisfied nod.

"Let us proceed," he said, and stepped through the door. Hardin, again holding the hand of the boy, gestured for Callo to proceed him. She followed Sydney with her eyes downcast, and could not help but wonder what dire danger she'd so foolishly stumbled into.

**.x.**

 


	3. Those scattered remains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains dialogue taken from the game's script.

 

> _"We are prelates to the lord, scum. We are not here to bend aught, we are come to cleanse!"_
> 
> _Father Grissom_
> 
>  

Callo was uncertain how much time had passed since they had entered the sunken ruins of Leá Monde. Sydney led them with an unerring, unnerving sense of direction throughout what had once been the lower levels of the great city. The wine cellar itself was massive, spanning one cavernous room after another. Callo walked behind Sydney and in front of Hardin and Joshua walked beside her. On occasion she would attempt to speak quietly with the young boy, but he always looked at her with wide, frightened eyes before darting back to whatever security it was that Hardin offered. After a few attempts she gave up and gave herself over to the the roiling apprehension that had consumed her mind.

Their surroundings gave her no comfort. In certain passages they encountered scattered bones. If there was any doubt what species of animal they belonged to, the myriad of human skulls lying about were quick to assuage. The air was dank and ripe, smelling of something she could not discern, but it unnerved her greatly nonetheless. She tried to imagine what it had been like centuries ago when these rooms had been above ground and part of a city teeming with life. Her thoughts then wandered to the calamity which had destroyed Leá Monde, the great earthquake that had torn the earth apart and separated the city from the rest of the world. Were these the bones of those who had died during that cataclysm, she wondered, or were they the remnants of people who had so foolishly sought to enter the city in search of treasure and knowledge? Perhaps, she mused with no small amount of dread, they were all that remained of the agents the VKP had sent to infiltrate so long ago...

Her morbid train of thought derailed as before her, Sydney came to an abrupt halt. Hardin strode past Callo, opening his mouth to speak, but Sydney raised one clawed hand to command silence. He was staring at the wall as if he could see something that they could not. Moments passed before he spoke.

"What's this? Agent Riot has come this far already?"

At his words, Callo felt hope flare throughout her. Her own gaze followed Sydney's in an attempt to pierce the physical boundary to see what lay on the other side.

"The labyrinthine aspect of these rooms has placed him behind us," the Müllenkamp leader continued, still intently watching what it was the others could not see. "Ah, he is not the only one that dogs our steps. The Cardinal's lackeys are here as well."

"They come in force?" Hardin asked grimly.

"Yes." Sydney turned from the wall to face his comrade. "If they are here, Guildenstern will not be far behind."

"What will we do? We cannot face their numbers."

"Do not fret, Hardin, not yet. I know a way to remove them from our path, if only temporarily. Follow quickly." He strode briskly to the door at the end of the chamber they stood in, a door they had already passed through, and pulled it open. It led to a large oblong room, a room they had only just vacated. From within the faint sounds of voices were now audible. Sydney turned to them with a clawed finger pressed against his lips. He looked then to Callo.

"I believe it is time we send your friend Ashley a gift," he said softly with a vague, enigmatic smile. Before she could ask what he meant to do, he began to chant softly in a spidery language, the likes of which she had never heard before. Callo watched in frightened awe as Sydney's image began to ripple and then fade. Colors flowed together and then bled away until standing before them was a completely different person. Tall, undoubtedly aristocratic, and armored in the manner of the church was this man; shrewd dark eyes regarded them all from within a stern, arrogant face.

Callo gasped. The man before them was Romeo Guildenstern! Her sound of astonishment was echoed by Joshua, who gripped Hardin's hand tightly in alarm.

"Hush, now," Hardin told the boy quietly, "It's still Sydney. There's naught to fear."

Callo, hearing his words, could not help but wonder if perhaps he was wrong. She'd only seen Guildenstern twice, but she could recall enough to know that she was standing before an identical image. Everything about him was realistic, authentic, from the proud twist of the lips to the haughty set of his shoulders and head. Any trace of Sydney had effectively disappeared.

"Wait here," Sydney ordered in Guildenstern's voice before turning and striding through the open door. Hardin waited a few seconds before indicating Callo was to follow him, and reluctantly she did so. They entered the next room. They stood upon a high ledge in one corner that was situated in shadow. A staircase led to the lower level. With a firm hand on her arm, Hardin indicated that they would remain in this spot. He pointed then to the center of the room to where the transformed Sydney stood before two Knights of the cross. Sydney was speaking and his words carried clearly across the length of the room.

"Here comes one of the Parliament's watchdogs. You, go back and silence his yapping."

"Parliament's ... watchdogs?" One Knight queried.

"An agent of the VKP. You can follow orders, can you not? The VKP is your enemy. Now, go!"

"Sir!" The two Knights snapped simultaneously, before turning on their heels and running through one of the three doors behind them. Sydney turned and began striding toward Hardin, Callo, and the boy and as he walked the false image bled away until once again it was the Müllenkamp leader before them.

"That should prove an entertaining diversion for Agent Riot,” he remarked as he ascended the stairway.

"You've thrown them off well enough," Hardin agreed, "but for how long?"

"Long enough for us to make good our escape. Let us continue."

He said nothing more, stepping past them to re-enter the corridor. Callo was staring at the door the Knights had gone through, feeling whatever hope she had just known slip slowly away. Sydney was far too shrewd and perceptive, it seemed, for anyone to accidentally stumble upon them. She wondered then if Ashley would come through Sydney's diversion unscathed. Hardin nudged her gently, directing her to follow after Sydney, and bowing her head, she let despair descend upon her once more.

**.x.**

Riskbreaker Ashley Riot had killed a minotaur.

As incredulous as it sounded, there was no denying the evidence which currently lay sprawled before him. It was a massive corpse, frightening even in death. It had stood on hoofed feet and the horns rising from the bull like head had provided all the evidence needed. It was in fact a minotaur, a creature of myth brought to life. He had walked through a door to find himself faced to face with the enormous beast. It had attacked so swiftly that he hadn't time to think about the impossibility of the situation. Instead, he had only time to defend himself, looking for an opening to launch an attack of his own. It was over swiftly and Ashley knew that the killing blow he had delivered had been as much the result of chance as it had been skill. No longer would he wonder about the credibility behind the legends of what creatures wandered the sunken ruins of Leá Monde, for the truth now lay before him.

Abruptly, something began to happen to the minotaur's corpse. It began to darken before disintegrating into pieces of shadow. Ashley took a step backwards as, with a loud rush of air, all traces of the creature vanished from existence. The Riskbreaker slowly shouldered the sturdy crossbow he had found within a chest in one of the previous rooms and shook his head in stubborn disbelief.

A sound filled the air then, the rhythmic tapping of metal on metal. Ashley whirled, bringing the crossbow up to bear, to find none other than the very person he had come in search of standing before him. Sydney was applauding, a smile upon his face as he strode forward, coming to a halt only a few feet away.

"Sydney!"

The Müllenkamp leader's smile grew wider. "So this is a Riskbreaker. Most men complacently accept knowledge as truth. They are sheep, ruled by fear. But you are different. Always calm, detached. A smooth flow of thought into action. Indeed it is almost as if... as if you had no soul."

He began walking, making a wide circle about Ashley. "How do you do it? Body and soul are one, yet yours are separate, like a child from his knight in a storybook. Where is your soul, Riskbreaker? Is this VKP training? Or did you see something that made you shut your soul away?" Sydney stopped then, directly before Ashley. "Show me your soul.”

He thrust out one metal hand, palm facing Ashley. The Riskbreaker gasped as an onslaught of images rushed through him, memories from a time long ago when he had lived a different life as a very different person. He struggled against them. He did not want to live through the pain and guilt they brought with them, not again. He was helpless to resist Sydney's eldritch magic, however, and as the memories rolled over him in unstoppable waves he fell heavily to one knee.

Here was Tia, his beloved Tia.

Here was Marco, the son he loved more than life itself.

Here they were lying dead before him.

As if from a great distance, he heard Sydney's voice, hard and relentless. "You killed your wife and child."

Ashley shook his head, still in held firm in the vice-like grasp of the visions. “They were slain by fallen knights, jackals."

"Wrong. You failed to protect your wife, your child. You failed in your duty as a knight, as a husband... as a father. You killed them!"

"Sydney!" Ashley shouted, surging to his feet. The memories halted then, retreated back into the furthest reaches of his mind where they had been previously locked away. He took a sudden step towards the prophet only to find that Sydney now inexplicably stood on the opposite side of the large chamber.

"Try to catch me, Ashley Riot! Look outside yourself to find the truth!"

The Riskbreaker was breathing heavily, trembling now from what he'd been forced to recall. "What's your game?"

Sydney did not answer, instead calling over his shoulder, "Hardin!"

From a ledge behind and high above the Müllenkamp prophet, a door opened. Hardin appeared, holding a knife to the throat of a struggling woman.

Ashley recognized her instantly. "Merlose!"

"Pay no heed to me!" She cried despite the blade at her throat. "Take them, Riot!"

He lunged toward them, but Sydney stepped smoothly into his path. "The city of shade will forgive your sins, my son—and call forth a power, a power that lies within you even now! This is my game. I run, you give chase. I am the hart, you are the hunter. But this hart has laid a few snares of his own. I am waiting for you, Riskbreaker."

Ashley struck out then, unsheathing his blade in a swift and seamless movement. Sydney was gone, already rising into the air with an effortless, eerie grace to land on the ledge where Hardin and Merlose had stood. The prophet gazed down upon him a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the shadows.

"H-Hold! Sydney! Damn!"

Sudden agony shot through Ashley, as his muscles began to spasm. He fell to all fours as a rush of foreign energy flooded through him, effectively paralyzing him. A second later it was over and he was left kneeling, breath coming in harsh gasps.

"What—what is happening?"

Floating back to him as if carried by the air, he heard Sydney's faint and ominous words: I am waiting for you, Ashley Riot.

**.x.**

Some time after their encounter with the Knights, Sydney had called a halt to their march. In a small chamber filled with wine casks, bats, and a few strewn bones he ordered Callo and Joshua to stay in one corner while he and Hardin withdrew to the other in order to converse in quiet tones. Callo, try as she might, was unable to hear what they said. Feeling a bone-deep weariness she was unaccustomed to, she sank down to the ground with the cold stone wall at her back. Her hands had gone numb long ago from the bindings and, wincing at the pain, she flexed her finger in an attempt to regain some feeling. Joshua sat down not far away, beside a giant cask, and watched her with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. Callo offered him a smile meant to comfort and was both surprised and pleased to see the flicker of an answering smile cross his pale, drawn face.

"We'll make it through this," she whispered to him. "I promise."

He did not answer, distracted by Hardin's approach. Callo stood, expecting Sydney to order them to begin their trek again, only to find the prophet was nowhere in sight. She looked a question at Hardin, but he did not offer an answer and instead withdrew his knife. "Turn around," he directed her. "I'll take that rope off."

She did as she was told and as the rope fell away she brought both arms before her and began to rub her wrists. There were angry red indentations around them where the rope had rubbed her skin raw, and the tips of her fingers were pale from lack of circulation.

"Where has Sydney gone?" She asked.

"To deal with the Riskbreaker." The other man replied, kneeling before Joshua and offering him a strip of dried meat he'd taken from a pouch at his side.

Ashley!

Callo did not hesitate. Glancing once at Hardin where he knelt, she took a deep breath and sprinted for the door set in the opposite wall, the one she assumed Sydney had gone through. She heard Hardin curse behind her. She was reaching for the door, fingers grasping, as he seized her from behind. Her desperation gave her added strength and she twisted in his grasp to deliver a powerful backhand blow. He reeled and she leaped again for the door. His hands caught her hair, pulling brutally, and with an agonized cry she fell backward. Her struggles ceased abruptly as she felt the cold length of his knife's blade pressed tightly against her throat.

"That was very foolish, woman," he snarled.

She was saved from replying by Sydney's voice, calling out from behind the door she had tried to get to. "Hardin!"

Hardin cursed again, and with one arm wrapped around Callo's waist and the other keeping the knife at her neck, he turned them both in a circle to face Joshua where he stood alone at the other end of the room, terrified tears streaming down his face.

"Wait here, boy." Hardin ordered, and though his tone brooked no disobedience it had softened somewhat. "I will come back."

The boy nodded hesitantly and, satisfied, Hardin turned and wrenched the door open without releasing Callo. As they stepped into the chamber beyond, Callo gasped. Below them, on the main floor facing Sydney, was Ashley!

He saw her immediately and shouted her name. Elated to see him alive, she cried out, "Pay no heed to me! Take them, Riot!"

Hardin's retribution for her outburst was swift. With a sharp, searing motion the knife drew blood. He hauled her back into the room and thrust her away with such force that she staggered into a wall. As she regained her balance she brought a hand to her neck. It came away smeared with blood. Hardin strode towards her, every step radiating his fury, and Callo shrank away, lifting her arms protectively. He raised his hand to deliver a blow, and she closed her eyes instinctively against the pain she knew was coming.

One heartbeat passed, and then another. Nothing happened. She fearfully opened her eyes. Sydney was beside Hardin. He had wrapped his long metal fingers around Hardin's wrist, restraining him. The two men were glaring silently at each other, locked in another battle of wills. Abruptly, Hardin lowered both his head and his arm.

"She made a run for the door," he muttered by way of explanation.

Sydney nodded, eyes flicking to Callo where she crouched before a row of wine casks. "I see. Speak now to the boy, Hardin. He will need reassurance."

Hardin, with one last glower in Callo's direction, stalked off to the other corner where Joshua stood.

"Inquisitor," Sydney said, drawing closer, "it was not wise to anger Hardin. His temper, when unleashed, is a force to reckon with."

"Let me go," Callo whispered in response, the realization that she had missed her one and only opportunity to escape hitting her hard. "Please."

Sydney shook his head, dropping to a crouch before her. With the casks at her back she could not retreat. She regarded him through narrowed, wary eyes. One clawed hand rose toward her throat; she made a small noise of refusal and twisted her head swiftly to one side.

"Be still, Inquisitor," Sydney said. "I only mean to soothe."

Confused but curious, she allowed him to wrap his hand around her throat. His metal fingers were uncomfortably cold against her skin. She tried to suppress a shiver and failed. She knew that he possessed such strength in those claws as to end her life right there, but instead he dropped his head and murmured something softly. A warm, tingling sensation crept over her, both soothing and unnerving. When he removed his hand and settled back on his heels, she probed gently at where the wound had been. Her fingers came away dry. The small gash was gone.

She stared at Sydney then in utter disbelief. "What power is this?"

His mouth curved upward the smile she was fast becoming familiar with. "It is my own," he said, his answer not an answer at all. He stood, glancing to where Hardin stood with the boy. "We must continue on. I'm afraid we will have to bind you again. You would do well to mind your manners from this point on."

"Wait!" She cried as he turned to walk to the door. "Ashley—what have you done to him?"

"Agent Riot," he replied without turning, "is both alive and well."

**.x.**

 


	4. The summoning

> _"A sweeter faith still is the draught called 'love'."_
> 
> _Sydney Losstarot_
> 
>  
> 
> __

Callo awoke with a start, jerking free of the haunting depths of the dreams she had been lost in. For a moment she was beset by utter confusion. Her eyes fluttered open to see a simple dirt floor, with rocks portruding in random places. Recollection flooded back then, cold, disturbing memories of where she was and why she was here. Despair came with the memories, thick and cloying, and for the first time since she had entered Leá Monde she felt tears welling up at the hopelessness of her situation.

She was lying on her side, knees curled to her chest and her arms bound still behind her back. At Sydney's behest Hardin had made the rope bindings on her wrists looser than he had before and as such, she had regained feeling in those particular extremities. While her arms still ached terribly from being held in that position so long she was somewhat mollified by that small gesture of consideration.

Blinking in an effort to dispel the fog left behind by sleep, she listened carefully for a moment. She heard only the soft sound of Hardin's voice and the tremulous replies of the small boy coming from somewhere not far away. Sydney had left them some time ago without explanation. Hardin, of course, knew what he was about. Callo had given herself over to her weariness then, curling up at the base of a rock wall in search of rest.

Joshua's soft voice came to her again, answering some question of Hardin's. The boy was the mystery in this whole damned situation –why had Sydney and Hardin taken him from the manor? It had been widely rumored that the reason the Müllenkamp cult stormed the manor of Duke Bardorba in the first place had been to steal something back from him. Had they taken Joshua, the Duke's sole heir, because they could not find what it was they were searching for? Were they planning to use the young boy as a bargaining chip to obtain what they sought? Or was he simply a hostage meant to give them protection from both the VKP and the Cardinal's men?

Her questions, infuriatingly, only gave way to more questions. Duke Bardorba had gone to vicious lengths to cover up Müllenkamp's involvement in the burning of his manor. To the public, it was made to seem that the destruction of the manor was the work of the Cardinal. His actions were bizarre, more so because Bardorba was renowned as a hero who had once fought to end civil strife in Valendia. He was a prominent figure of the Valendia National Parliament, and though he was now on his deathbed he still held considerable political influence over the land. The VKP had done careful investigations into the workings of Duke Bardorba, and had determined that he was in fact the secret financier of Müllenkamp. Many had their doubts whether this information was correct, and the incident at Bardorba Manor had further complicated the notion.

Callo sighed. Hardly anything made sense anymore. She had been sent as part of the countermeasures against Müllenkamp, as this was—in a very theoretical way—her area of expertise. Callo was the youngest member of the VKP's Information Analysis Unit, a group that collected information on both noblemen and political figureheads while also being involved in espionage. Callo herself specialized in analyzing both the behaviour and actions of cults and religious terrorists. She had studied for many years and had been awarded several degrees in theology and criminology before entering into the VKP. Upon doing so, she had quickly earned the respect and admiration of her fellow agents. While she worked mainly behind the scenes as an Inquisitor, she lacked any considerable field and battle experience. Upon her assignment to meet and confer with Ashley Riot at the entrance to Leá Monde, she had been eager to prove herself. She had studied very carefully the operations of Müllenkamp and their leader, Sydney Losstarot. Having been offered the chance to be involved with the countermeasures against them was, she had felt, a rare and golden opportunity.

How wrong she'd been, she mused grimly as she struggled into a sitting position, a task made difficult without her arms to aid her. In the short period of time spent with the leader of Müllenkamp and his right hand man, she'd quickly realized how wrong her assumptions about them both had been. There was no mistaking the fact that Sydney was exceptionally dangerous and exceedingly calculating. His dark eyes held immeasurable intelligence and were shrewd, seeing, as she had witnessed first hand, what others could not. The few displays of his power she'd seen so far had also been astonishing. She had never heard of someone possessing such magic. In the few hours Callo had been in his company, she had grown to both greatly respect and fear him.

Hardin was another matter. Deadly, skilled with the sword, and highly intelligent, he was on equal ground with Sydney. His stature was that of a noble man, and yet there was a hardened edge to him that made him seem both cautious and embittered. As well, it had been revealed to Callo that Hardin had his own power: he had the ability to scrye, to see events occurring in the present, no matter how far away. His demeanour when he was around Joshua Bardorba baffled Callo—while he wasn't particularly kind, he manner was not ungentle. He made a point to always speak softly to the boy and treated him as if he were something found that had been long lost. At times Callo would catch him watching the lad with an expression of such sorrow that it almost pained her. She had no doubts that the Bardorba heir would be guarded well enough while in Hardin's charge, but if he felt such kinship with the child, why bring him here, to these treacherous depths?

No answers were forthcoming, and she sighed her frustration and confusion. Getting her feet beneath her, she rose. At her movement, both Hardin and the boy had glanced her way. They said nothing, however, and so she began to pace the length of the circular chamber they were now in. They had finally left the wine cellars behind and now it seemed they were going even deeper within the earth. At one end of the room, not far from where she had lain down, there was a small pool of water. As she stood over it, she caught sight of her face in a rippling reflection. She looked haggard and weary, her dark hair falling about her shoulders in mild disarray but for the two braids on either side of her face. Her eyes, also dark, stared numbly back at her, their depths full of fear, apprehension, and despair. Her armor, standard VKP issue, had once been shining and unblemished. It was now smudged and stained from her journey throughout the lowest levels of Leá Monde.

Her reflection scowled at her suddenly and with a sigh she turned away. Her small sleep had done nothing to ease either her aching body or her tired mind, and so she returned to the spot she had just so recently left. She settled down again, cross legged with her back against the rock wall. For a moment she watched Hardin and Joshua, quietly sitting side by side. They were paying her no mind, and so she allowed her eyes to close again and let herself drift away once more into troubled sleep.

It was the sound of voices which next roused Callo. She felt disoriented for a moment and shook her head in an effort to rid herself of the feeling. The voices were those of Sydney and Hardin and in sudden concern she rose to her feet. Joshua was where he had been previously, curled into a ball and fast asleep. She found the two men in the center of the chamber. Sydney was crouched, scraping something in the dirt with one extended claw. Hardin stood beside him. They both appeared firmly entrenched it whatever it was they were doing. A sudden idea invaded her mind. If she were to flee now, slowly and carefully, they may not notice. As it was, both were apparently oblivious to her presence...

She took one measured step backward, and then another, concentrating as to not make a sound. With a suddenness that was startling, Sydney raised his head and fastened his eyes upon her.

"Do not attempt escape," he said, "and no harm will come to you."

Callo swallowed. His ability to perceive everything that transpired around him was extremely disconcerting. Knowing that any attempt to flee at that point would be futile, she instead took a few steps closer to the men to see what it was they were doing.

"What evil are you working here?" She asked then, staring curiously at the marks Sydney had made upon the ground.

"Just a little drawing, my dear." He glanced up at his comrade. "What think you, Hardin?"

Hardin's face was drawn, creases and lines standing out in sharp relief as he stared with grim intensity straight ahead. Callo realized he was in the midst of scrying. She looked on in interest.

"Gods," Hardin breathed, "is he even human? He fights with the strength of a brigade... Are Riskbreakers all that powerful?"

"I think not." Sydney replied. "Our Ashley is a vessel, you see. He has merely partaken of the power around him. It is as I have foreseen."

Hardin shook his head and closed his eyes, dispelling his scrying sight. "What next, then?""

Sydney stood. "What next? Let him give chase awhile."

"This is madness, Sydney! The Blades will hold this town soon, and we dare not face their undivided forces! We've no time to play cat and mouse!"

"Relax, my good Hardin. Remember, it is all a part of my plan."

Hardin went on, his voice heated, "Were the Duke's betrayal, and the Cardinal's meddling and a Riskbreaker strong as a bloody titan all a part of your precious plan too, Sydney?"

The Müllenkamp leader said nothing, but leveled an icy glare upon his comrade. Silence, almost tangible with tension, fell for a few moments. Finally, Hardin took a step back.

"Sydney, forgive me."

"Be calm, Hardin. It is of no account." The prophet then turned to Callo, who was silently observing them both. "You impress me, Inquisitor. More concerned with our doings than your own fate?"

Callo shook her head and answered his question with one of her own. "What villainy are you planning, Sydney?"

He gave her an unpleasant smile. "Why, I'm preparing a feast for your friend." He raised both arms, and abruptly the part of the ground where he had made his markings began to glow. Callo and Hardin both stepped back as Sydney's voice rose in harsh chant.

"Gylda-meundes-haati-smohta. Ferdes-raati-salba-glymota. Emperor of shade, descend from the dark. Honor sin-soaked contracts of kinship; lead your beast unto me."

Something began to take shape before them, monstrous and terrifying. As it formed itself out of shadow Callo looked away, frightened, and her eyes fell upon a ghostly image of a boy standing not far away. She glanced quickly at Joshua to see that he was still asleep. The hazy image of the boy was still there and she realized it looked strangely similar to the Bardorba heir. The ghost's lips moved, and the words it spoke echoed hauntingly in her mind.

I must help father...

An unearthly roar reverberated throughout the chamber then, and with a small cry Callo spun around to see what horror Sydney had summoned. Looming before them all, wings spanning the entire cavern, was a dragon. It opened its gaping maw and roared again, revealing stained, jagged teeth. What little light there was shone of scales of green and brown. Impossible! Callo thought in terror, but she could not deny its existence. Tearing her eyes from the scaled beast she whirled around to look at the ghost boy.

He was gone.

 

**.x.**

 


	5. Where the dead walk

> _"Run, Sydney, run. You will be ours in the end."_
> 
> _Romeo Guildenstern_

 

 

Ashley had, at long last, left the wine cellar behind. He stood now in what he surmised to be part of the ancient catacombs of Leá Monde. The room he occupied now was long and narrow. The walls here, like in the cellars, were hewn of rough stone. Cut into the rock walls surrounding him were niches and within those niches lay the yellowed bones of humans past. This had obviously been a place of ceremonial burial, as he could see the dead had been buried with most their possessions. Curiously he approached the nearest bundle of ancient bones. There were still pieces of tattered cloth wrapped around them, most likely the remnants of a burial shroud. Silver and gold jewelry, tarnished badly from the passage of centuries, lay in a pile beside the skull. A glint of bright metal caught his eye from beneath the mound of fabric and trinkets, and very carefully he picked through the assorted necklaces, earrings, and bracelets to find an ornate silver staff buried beneath.

He lifted the staff from the niche with a low whistle. There was no mistaking that it was a fine piece of equipment, for even after this long it still gleamed brightly. It wasn't long, the length of his arm at the most, but as Ashley swung it about experimentally he marveled at how well balanced it was. The top curved slightly, forming a slight hook, and the entire thing was highly polished, gilded with gold, and inlaid with small twinkling gemstones around the grip. His eyes caught sight of something along the hooked part; he raised it and strained in the light to see what it was. There was lettering, faint and spidery, and it took him a minute to decipher what it said.

 _Magnolia Frau_ , he read. He discerned it was the name of the weapon. He slipped the slender rod through a loop at his belt. If the rest of Leá Monde was anything like the area he had already traversed, he would be in need of armaments of this quality. Besides, he mused as he left the niche and headed for the door opposite the one he had entered, the dead had no use for something such as this

The moment he stepped through the door into the next room, he caught sight of the Knight slumped against the side of one of the many marble funeral biers that cluttered the chamber. His armor was crimson; it took the Riskbreaker a moment to realize it was covered entirely in blood. The Knight's face was pale, deathly so, and Ashley swiftly went to him and knelt at his side. The Knight slowly lifted his head and focused on the Riskbreaker with hazed eyes.

"Ur ... I ... I b-beg of ye ... sss ... stop the ... pain." His words were slow, rasping loudly throughout the stillness around them.

Ashley leaned closer, but before he could speak the Knight began to cough, great hacking coughs, and blood flew from his mouth at the force of the exertion. Abruptly the coughing ceased, and the Knight's head fell heavily forward. Ashley did not need to examine any further to know that he was dead. He drew back, startled, as a sphere of white, shimmering energy escaped the Knight's corpse, hovering for a moment. The ball drifted upwards, and still watching it the Riskbreaker took a few steps forward.

At the sound of metal clinking, he twisted swiftly around. The body of the Knight was moving, slowly and steadily getting to its feet. Once upright it stood still for a moment, the helmeted head lolling back and forth. With a moan of what sounded like deep anguish, the corpse came at Ashley, bringing the long sword it still clutched up to bear. Shaking off his astonishment, the Riskbreaker backpedaled hastily, putting space between himself and the corpse. He quickly climbed onto one of the funeral biers and removed the Magnolia Frau from his belt. Of all the weapons he carried, he somehow inexplicably knew it would fare the best against a creature such as this. The Knight's corpse was still coming towards him in a shuffling walk.

"Is this some magick, or merely the power of Leá Monde... ?" The Riskbreaker wondered aloud.

When the undead creature was within striking distance, Ashley attacked. From where he stood on the bier he had the advantage. Lashing out quickly, he struck again and again with the staff until finally the corpse dropped to the ground and dissipated in the same manner the minotaur had. The Riskbreaker executed a smooth, twirling movement with the staff, admiring the balance and the sturdiness of such a delicate weapon. He then secured it once more on his belt, hopped down from the bier, and strode to the next door.

As the door shut behind him with a booming echo, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light, a deep moaning began. Three corpses, all of them Knights, were scattered on the floor here, and as he watched they too climbed to their feet and shambled towards him. As he gripped the Magnolia Frau and brought his small shield before him, he muttered, "Is this, too, a part of your game, Sydney?"

**.x.**

Beneath the streets of Leá Monde, the dead walked.

Callo's group had encountered the zombies only briefly, when they had inadvertently entered a room full of them. They were not all Knights. Some were bodies that had lain decomposing for months; others were only the skeletal remains of some unfortunate visitor. It didn't matter, not to Callo. They terrified her. Sydney had made quick work of them, dispatching them all with a spell of flames and heat. As the walking corpses dissolved, their dying wails sent shivers down even Hardin's spine. Joshua had become deathly pale at the sight of such hideous monstrosities, and it was only because Hardin remained close beside him that he had not fainted from fear. After Sydney had dealt with the undead, they swiftly fled, running into a chamber that was by far the largest they had encounteredwithin this forgotten dungeon.

"What the devil were those... _creatures_? And where are we?" Hardin asked, staring round the circular room. He was holding firmly onto Joshua's hand.

"They were the living dead, Hardin, their bodies taken over by the Dark. And we are still on course." Sydney replied, striding quickly toward a door on a ledge reachable only by roughhly hewn stairs.

"Are you certain you kn—" Hardin began, following the prophet, when the suddenly the world around them began to tremble.

The shaking was intense, so much so that it sent Sydney staggering into a wall and Hardin to his knees. Behind them all, Callo struggled for balance with her hands tied as the ground beneath her heaved and bucked. Joshua screamed as pieces of rock were abruptly thrust up through the floor, as the room began to reshape itself. Callo stumbled desperately toward the others, shouting, but fell backwards as the ground rose before her, effectively cutting her off. The quake was causing pieces of the roof to fall, and Callo scampered to the side to avoid being flattened beneath an enormous slab of stone. The tremors intensified then, and she could only curl up protectively and hope she would survive as the earth around her was torn apart and remade.

And then the shaking slowed before fading altogether. Hesitantly, Callo raised her head from where she had buried it between her knees. What she saw elicited a cry of dismay.

What had once been one room had been effectively halved by jagged rock pillars. Walls had fallen away, and where she lay now was a mess of cliffs and ledges and uneven ground. What caused her heart to stop momentarily, however, were the two upright figures that stood some several feet away. Deep, rumbling groans filled the air, and with horror unlike she had ever known before, Callo realized they were aware of her.

She scrambled to her feet, her breathing fast and uneven. They were close enough for her to see what they had been in life: their armor and plumed helmets identified them as Crimson Blades. One held a polearm with a barbed tip, the other a hand axe. The head of the Knight with the polearm was bent at an impossible angle and Callo could clearly see the spine glistening through the red ruin his neck had become. The Knight with the axe was missing an arm as well as half of his face. Something was dripping off of his body, something thicker than blood, and Callo swallowed thickly in disgust as she backed steadily away. The reek of rotting flesh and other unpleasant things was heavy in the air. It was all she could do not to gag.

Suddenly she felt a cold, unyielding surface at her back. She had worked herself into a corner. The undead Knights were closing in on her steadily, their progress slowed by all the rocky upthrusts left behind by the quake. Fighting back panic and terror, Callo eyed her surroundings. Directly in front of her was another ledge, this one higher than the others in the room. She wondered if she could reach the top if she had a running start, and then realized she really had no choice. One of the undead moaned and the sound, both mournful and terrifying, pulled a whimper from her throat.

She took a deep breath and began to run. The distance she had to cover was not far, but she was unprepared for the uneven footing. With her hands still bound behind her back she could not properly fight for her balance and as her foot caught on a small outcropping she tumbled hard to the ground. Gasping now, she rolled over in time to see the Knight's axe descending in a blur toward her head. She rolled quickly to her right, struggling to get to her knees and failing. The scrape of metal over stone warned her of the next Knight and she blindly threw herself forward. She heard the polearm pass by her head with a rush of air. Gaining her feet again she whirled to face the undead. The axe Knight moved in again for another strike, the dim light shining off the ivory of his exposed jaw bone and teeth. She took one step back—

—she was falling; she hadn't known the edge was so close behind her. It was not a long fall, but she struck the ground hard enough to cry out in pain. The polearm Knight was approaching now with surprising speed. Fighting for control over her body with her arms bound as they were, she gathered herself into a crouch and leaped—

Sudden agony ripped through her. She was beset by searing, rending pain as the spear pierced the fleshy part of her shoulder. She screamed and crumpled, sliding free of the weapon. It was pain like she'd never known before and though her mind threatened to be overwhelmed by a haze of suffering she knew she had to keep moving. She staggered to her feet and twisted around. The Knights were on either side of her now. The tip of the polearm was painted crimson with her blood. There was nowhere for her to go. To the left and below was a drop of considerable distance. She knew she wouldn't survive the fall. Terrified and out of options, she watched as the Knight with the axe lunged at her.

There was a blurred rush of movement. The axe went wide of its mark. Callo watched through wide eyes as Sydney lashed out with the speed of a striking snake, his slender silver blade rising and falling in a flurry of movement. The axe Knight crumpled, vanishing before it hit the ground, and the Müllenkamp leader dispatched the second Knight with the same deadly ease. As the creature's last cry died away Sydney turned to Callo with an expression of concern.

"You are wounded?"

It was more a statement than a question, and when Callo tried to reply she discovered she had no voice. Her entire frame was trembling from both pain and fear, and with a silent sob she fell to her knees.

"Inquisitor," Sydney said, and then he was kneeling at her side. The wound in her shoulder was fast becoming numb, though she could feel the steady drip of blood down her arm. Carefully Sydney reached around and severed the rope that bound her, and Callo then raised her shaking hand to tenderly touch the hole in her shoulder. She heard Sydney's exclamation before he grasped her hand with his own to pull it away. She allowed him to lean in closer and inspect the bloodied mess. When he probed it gently with one clawed finger the resulting wave of agony had her doubled over and gasping. Strong hands were on her back and good shoulder; dazedly she realized the Müllenkamp leader was comforting her. He pulled her upright gently, and cupped her chin in his claws.

"I will heal you," he told her, his dark eyes intent upon her own, "But there will be pain in the process. I am sorry for that. Be strong for me, Inquisitor, as I know you can be.”

Callo nodded numbly. He gave her a small reassuring smile before wrapping one arm tightly around her and pulling her closer. Her head fell to rest in the hollow of his neck and she closed her eyes and tensed, uncertain of what was to come. He laid his metal hand flat against her wound and though his touch was light it made her whimper all the same. He began to chant. She could hear the words rumble throughout his chest as he spoke. The same soothing, cleansing sensation she had experienced at his hands previously flooded through her and she felt her muscles relax as the pain mercifully began to dull. Minutes passed before Sydney removed his hand.

Callo pulled away to inspect his handiwork. Her shoulder was whole again, pale but for the angry, jagged red scar that was the only remaining mark of the Knight's attack. She raised her arm experimentally to find that there was still an ache, but it was not so bad as to hinder movement. She raised her eyes to Sydney and said with utmost earnestness, "Thank you."

He nodded. "I am sorry I was not here sooner. The earthquake took us all by surprise."

Callo's eyes roamed about the room again. She couldn't suppress the shudder which crept up her spine at the memory of what had just transpired. Watching the horror flit across her face, Sydney said gently, "You were brave, Inquisitor."

She met his eyes and shook her head. "I ran."

"Which was all you could do," the prophet replied. "Once again, you surprise me. Not many would have survived under the same circumstances."

Something in his gaze had changed; he was now regarding her with a degree of speculation she was uncomfortable with. In order to escape his scrutiny Callo tried to stand only to find that her legs refused to obey her. Sydney was quick to catch her as her knees gave way and with one arm around her he eased her back down. "Not too swiftly, my dear. You have only just undergone a great deal."

"Hardin and Joshua," she asked then, "are they safe?"

Sydney nodded. "Yes. I bid them wait where they were. You and I will have to backtrack in order to find them again."

She didn't bother to ask how he'd found her as quickly as he had because she already knew he had powers beyond imagination. He reached out again to lightly trace a claw along the scar she'd just attained as the mark of his healing. His touch was cool, unnervingly so. Again a shiver worked through her, this time for a very different reason.

"I'm afraid this will be permanent,” he said. As if suddenly realizing what he was doing, he withdrew his hand quickly and stood. He held a hand out to Callo and she felt a strange reluctance to accept it. Confused at the feeling, she shrugged it off and grabbed his hand. He pulled her to her feet.

"It's time we left this place. We must not keep Hardin waiting too long."

Callo nodded, eager to leave this room behind forever. With a final, appraising glance her way Sydney turned and began to walk.

Shaken by more than just her encounter with the dead, Callo rubbed her shoulder absently and followed.

 

 

**.x.**

 


End file.
